Fairytale
by MyGoldenGlow
Summary: Neal is no white knight and Alex is certainly not a damsel, but there is an awful lot of distress and rescuing going on.  Spoilers for season 1
1. Prologue

**Hi! This is my first White Collar fic. Hopefully you enjoy it! ****:) **** I know it's short, but I promise chapter 1 will be much longer! **

**Disclaimer: I don't even own the DVD's :(  
**

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When a package enters the United States Postal Service, it has approximately one set of fingerprints on it. By the time it leaves, it has at least four. If that package is sent to a business it will subsequently get at least two more sets of prints before reaching the intended recipient. By the time the package is finally delivered, most trace evidence and partial prints from the sender have long since been destroyed.

At least, that was Neal's excuse for not calling Peter to dust for prints before opening the letter. That, and he recognized the handwriting.

As he read the letter and surveyed the contents of the package, however, he felt his stomach sink and his heart jump to his throat. Instantly, he set about getting into contact with the only person who could help.

"Mozz – I need your help."

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**By the way, if anyone knows the actual statistics on packages in the postal service and fingerprints, could they let me know? I spent an hour online searching for it, but no luck**


	2. Chapter 1

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or put this on story alert, especially since the last chapter was so short! I hope you enjoy this one!**

**Duffy1 - Good idea! I'll have to remember to ask! Thanks :)**

**reader300 - it's no fair that you know secrets ahead of time! :P  
**

**Disclaimer: I did not become a millionaire overnight and buy White Collar *sigh***

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"I understand that you don't want to risk this but I really do think the suit needs to be called."

"Mozz, you don't get it! Peter _can't_ know. You saw the note. I'm not going to call him until I know more. We _can_ do this. Come on, it's just like old times, right?"

"Neal, you know me. You know how much I hate the federal government and all of their conspiracies. But they do have a knack for solving these kinds of problems. And the Suit – as much as it pains me to say – the Suit really is good at what he does."

Neal stood up quickly and strode across the room, trying to school his features into something other than a glare. _Calm, calm, I am calm. Get control, get control,_ he took a steadying breath and closed his eyes, but the image from the package flashed before them as he did so. He was shaking with his effort to stay calm, and finally he broke, swinging out an arm and smashing a very expensive wine bottle to the floor.

"I can't do this, Mozz. I can't lose…" Neal broke off and groaned, burying his face in his hands and then running them through his hair.

Mozzie frowned. He avoided friendships and attachments like the plague, because he knew how these things went down, especially in his line of work. His unique ability to not care and to fade away into the background let him live for as long as he had, but once Neal had wormed his way into Mozzie's heart, he found himself traveling down a slippery slope called loyalty that ended in a valley called death.

"Look, I'll make some calls. See if anyone's heard anything. But you know my position and it isn't going to change anytime soon. Even if you get more information, this won't go down the right way without a lot of firepower – and I know of only one person who can get that for you, and it isn't me."

He turned to leave and hesitated by the door. "I…I care. I know I'm not the most…sensitive guy around, and you probably know that very well by now, but I do care."

Neal's voice was soft and teetering on the edge of tear-filled. "I know, Mozz. I really appreciate it."

"Don't thank me until this is over with."

* * *

His consultant was acting strangely. And not in a trying-to-impress-everyone, typical-Neal-Caffrey way. If Peter didn't know any better, he'd say that Neal's behavior was exactly the same as five years ago, when he was still a free conman and Peter was chasing after him. But Peter did know better, and he knew that, for all he claimed people didn't change, Neal had. And this wasn't like him.

He fully intended to call Neal on it – but after finding 20 excuses to delay it, he realized that it wasn't just Neal's behavior that was bothering him. It was the fact that his good influence might not have been enough. And part of him really didn't want to know what was going on with his CI, as long as their partnership could remain intact.

Just as Peter had steeled himself to call Neal into his office and have a heart-to-heart, Diana smacked a file down on his desk.

"Insurance fraud. So and so said such and such and something about no one being that unlucky that many times." Peter raised his eyes at the vagueness and she shrugged. "Ryan mumbles into the phone. It's all in the file. Besides," she turned to leave, rolling her eyes ever so slightly, "you could solve it in your sleep."

Peter groaned and flipped open the file. Catching white collar criminals could be thrilling, sure, when he was on the trail of someone like Neal. But the day to day cases? He might as well watch plants grow, they were that interesting. And no matter how hardhearted most people accused him of being, solving the small-time cons often left him feeling empty inside. The perpetrator was usually just a poor guy desperate for money, either to pay off old debts or to help raise a family. It wasn't that Peter condoned the crime – but he pitied the criminal just enough to be bothered about it.

"New case?" Neal's overly chipper voice broke his concentration, and Peter looked up, ready to reply with their usual banter – until he saw his Neal's face. He was smiling, a typical reaction to a case, but Peter had seen that smile too many times not to recognize it. It was Neal's conman smile. In his eyes, Peter could see that he was distracted. Every few seconds his eyes would dart around, taking in doorways, windows, exits and the number of people in the room.

"Uh, I don't think so," Peter closed the file that he had not been reading and put it aside. "Simple case of insurance fraud. We'll leave it to one of the probies – they need the simple cases." Neal shrugged and turned to go, but Peter stopped him. "But, uh, I did want to ask you something."

"Oh?" Neal turned slowly, schooling his face into pleasantly interested. _He doesn't know. He can't know. I'm the best conman there is, he can't see through me. He doesn't know. Play it cool. _

Peter hesitated, trying to find the words that wouldn't make Neal run for the hills. "Are you…feeling okay?"

"You mean physically? Emotionally? Spiritually?"

"I mean you're acting strange. You won't look anyone in the eye and you've been almost jumping out of your seat every time someone's phone rings."

"Really Peter? No wonder so many criminals are still wandering the streets. If you spent half as much time catching them as you do staring at me, the world would be a better place."

"Neal, I'm serious," Peter growled, standing up and stepping around his desk. "Tell me what's wrong. Yesterday, you were fine. Today you're acting like you're running from the cops again. Why?"

"I…" Neal swallowed, his eyes scanning around the small office constantly, noticing books, files, pens, papers, coffee and more. He had to weigh his options and he had to weigh them fast. This was life or death and it wasn't his life he was gambling with.

"I can't tell you," he said finally, hoping that Peter would get the hint.

Peter opened his mouth to demand a response before freezing. "Can't?"

"I wish I could, but if I tell you…I'd be risking something very, very important to me." Neal's bright eyes were locked onto Peter's, and he wished he could tell him everything through sheer force of will.

"This isn't about Kate or the music box, is it?" Peter asked, a warning in his tone.

"No," Neal assured him quickly. "Not this time. Look, I….I may need your help but I need to do a little digging on my own first. Please, Peter. Trust me."

Peter knew that he could demand answers. He knew that if he pushed, Neal would most likely tell him the truth. And he also knew that if whatever was going on went badly, he would never forgive himself for using Neal's loyalty to his own advantage. So he nodded instead, keeping his eyes on Neal's.

"As far as your two mile radius," he added, to lighten the mood. And Neal laughed – of course he laughed. But Peter couldn't help but notice that his eyes were still scanning the room.

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	3. Chapter 2

**So...hi everyone. Remember me?...**

**I really don't have an excuse for the long wait - but I promise to have the next chapter up much sooner! In one/two weeks. Thanks for everyone who reviewed/favorited/put on story alert! I really appreciate it and I swear I will never be so late with a new chapter again!**

**Maybe I should do a recap:**

_Neal received a mysterious package in the mail. He asked Mozzie for help. Peter became suspicious and asked Neal what was wrong but Neal refused to answer him. _**  
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"So, basically, we have nothing." Neal said loudly, trying to keep himself from breaking another wine bottle.

Mozzie shrugged, "I called everyone I know. They haven't heard anything. Nada. No word about a location, nothing about anyone looking for anything."

"Can't you call in more favors?" Neal Caffrey would never admit to whining, but he was pretty close to it now.

"Aren't you listening? I have _no more favors_ _to call in_. I've done everything – called everyone. No one has heard of anything. Whoever this person is, he doesn't run in our circle. The only thing I have is a message."

"A message?" Neal jerked his head up from the table, trying to quench his hope before something else did. "What did it say? Who was it for?"

"Some thug she was hiring as a bodyguard."

"A bodyguard?" Neal frowned, "Why?"

"Clearly for a good reason," Mozzie replied, pulling out a small tape recorder, "I couldn't get a good copy. My friend is too paranoid for that – I'm telling you, he makes me look like an ignorant know nothing who puts his home address up in chat rooms," he added, at Neal's skeptical look. "But I recorded this through the phone."

Neal's hands almost shook as he pressed play. A sharp burst of static came through, then Mozzie's voice telling the person on the other end of the line to play it.

A strangled yelp. The sound of breaking glass. A few muffled shouts from men. Heavy footsteps, and then a desperate cry from an all too familiar voice.

"Let me go! I don't have any money! Stop!" The screams changed from ones of panic to ones of pain, and Neal closed his eyes as the sounds of struggling increased. The cries grew more and more muffled, until finally silence fell. A single set of footsteps grew louder, and then a voice spoke.

"If you value your life, you'll ignore what you just heard." Then he heard the snap of the phone and the recording stopped.

"Mozz–" his voice was barely loud enough to be heard. Mozzie sighed. He hadn't wanted to play it, but he knew that the more information Neal had, the better he could judge the situation.

"I know. But listen – those shouts, they sounded like military orders. And the footsteps – tall, strong men, definitely wearing boots. This was a planned assault, Neal. Mercenaries, maybe even a foreign government. Either way, these men are trained, they are skilled, and they are not people to mess around with."

"And the bodyguard?" Neal asked, standing up and beginning to pace.

Mozzie hesitated to tell his friend his next news, but he knew he couldn't avoid it. "Deleted the message and left. No one knows where he is."

"Damn it!" Neal smacked his hand against the wall so hard, Mozzie was amazed that it didn't break. "This is why you don't get involved with those people – no loyalty. She knows better – why would she be so stupid?" He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Mozzie remained where he was, waiting for Neal's temper to settle down and his brain to take center stage again.

Neal had always been cool, calm, and collected. Nothing much fazed him, and even when his entire plan went to hell, he remained impassive. But years of bottling up emotions led to angry outbursts, and when Neal lost his composure, he lost it completely. Slowly, Neal's body stopped shaking with fury and frustration.

Neal spoke, his voice still uneven. "I…I need to talk to Peter."

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Peter studied the photograph that was sitting on his desk carefully. His consultant was sitting across from him, completely still, looking like a repentant school boy who was waiting to be slapped. And Peter very much wanted to slap him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said finally. Neal winced at his tone – he wasn't angry, which would have been bad enough, but disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.

"I did, I was going to. You read the letter – if they really are watching me, then I didn't want to risk it. But I need help. The FBI has resources I can't get. Analysts, technicians, manpower…I need to know where she is. I know it's just a picture but…"

It wasn't just a picture. Peter kept studying it, as if it would crumple under his gaze. He knew that face all too well, but usually, it was smirking at him. Now, it still looked defiant, but exhausted somehow. Alexandra Hunter. Always one step ahead. Always had an alibi. Always had deniability. She was the last person he'd expect to see tied to a chair, today's newspaper propped up in her lap.

"I'll see what I can do. May I have the note? We can analyze the handwriting, check for prints, see if anything pops up."

"It won't help," Neal said tiredly, and Peter saw true helplessness in his eyes. He was reminded of the moment right after the plane explosion, as Neal struggled to run towards the flames and save the woman he knew was dead.

"You don't know that!" Peter protested, trying in vain to comfort his friend. "I know it's not much, but everything we have may help."

"No, I mean it won't help. That's Alex's handwriting. I'd know it anywhere. It's the reason I opened the package without thinking about it," Neal explained. "I recognized her handwriting." He looked disgusted with himself.

"Hey – it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

Neal shook his head, cutting off Peter's speech. "If I hadn't started working with her again, none of this would have happened. She'd still be in Paris or France or California, living the good life and –"

"Stop it." Peter interrupted sternly. He'd seen other kidnap victim's families go down this spiral. If only they hadn't opened the door, if only they hadn't won the lottery, if only. It never helped and it was never true. He knew that nothing he said would stop Neal from feeling guilty, but he wasn't about to let his consultant wallow in misery. "We can play the blame game all day, but it won't get anything accomplished," he said, still speaking like a parent lecturing a child.

"Now, there is a department for kidnapping, and they're good at what they do. Probably some of the best guys I know, but there's a problem."

Neal's expression, which had grown brighter, faltered. "What?"

"Normally, we look into the past of a kidnap victim closely. We try to know everything we can about them to know why they were taken. I know Alex doesn't want the FBI to know anything we don't have to, and if we find anything…anything that relates to her current way of life, we will have to take her in after she's safe."

Neal's eyes flashed, "This is why I didn't tell you, Peter! Because I knew you'd only care about catching her for stealing some old painting!"

Peter stood up and slammed his hands on the desk, angry that Neal saw him only as an obstacle. He wasn't a coldhearted agent anymore than Neal was a flighty playboy. "Hey! I don't want to arrest her, Neal! I bought her a ticket for Italy so that she could flee! But other people don't know her, and they won't care to!"

The two men glared at each other, tensions running high. Finally Peter spoke again, his breathing still heavy. "I was going to suggest getting all of the agents who are loyal to me in this division together and working on this privately. If the bureau finds out we're helping a fugitive and not arresting her, there will be hell to pay."

Neal nodded solemnly.

"Alright then," Peter straightened, "Let's get to work."

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**I promise the next chapter will be up soon!**


	4. Chapter 3

**I'm baaaaack! :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed/put this on story alert. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the others!**

**reader300 - this means you owe me 2 updates now :)**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own White Collar, unfortunately.**

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The cramped storage room in the basement of the federal building was a flurry of activity. Makeshift desks had been constructed from file boxes and confiscated suitcases, and a whiteboard had been set up against an empty wall. The picture of Alex took center stage, and it broke Neal's heart a little every time he saw it.

The room was filled with the usual suspects – Diana, Neal, Jones, and Peter – but there were a few faces Neal hadn't expected. A couple of agents who chased down counterfeit bills shook Peter's hand and went straight to work. A lab tech who didn't look a day out of high school started running prints almost immediately. Everywhere he looked, Neal saw Peter's friends and admirers, hard at work, risking their jobs to save a woman they'd once wanted to catch. He never thought he'd say it, but there seemed to be something to be said for being a good, honest man. Looking around, Neal had never felt so touched (even though he knew they weren't there for him), or so useless.

"Neal!" he spun around to see Peter talking to him. "June just called – there's a package at home addressed to you." Neal felt his stomach drop and his heart rise to his throat. _God no. Please let her be okay. Let it just be a ransom demand._

"…very important," Peter was saying. "They can't know you've told me. You need to go home, pretend to open the package. Don't touch it too much if you can avoid it. Wait as long as necessary – an hour, maybe more. You _cannot_ make contact with us, under any circumstances. Got it?"

"Got it," Neal replied, still distracted by the thought of what was waiting for him at home.

"After that time, we will call you. From an outsider perspective, it will look like you're late to work. Hide the package somewhere on your body and return here."

"Okay." Neal brushed off Peter's hand and began moving towards the door, almost feeling like he was in a dream.

_Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay._

* * *

The only virtue of a conman that Neal Caffrey lacked was patience. He wasn't as bad as some, and it certainly hadn't ruined his career, but it was a fact that he struggled with almost daily. It had almost ruined several cases he'd worked with Peter as well – he was too eager, too ready to jump in without thinking. That was why he found himself actually sitting on his hands in his kitchen, staring at the package that had arrived twenty minutes ago.

"Don't open it, don't open it, don't open it," he chanted, memorizing the fold in the manila envelope, the gentle rise in the middle as it graced the edges of its contents, and the familiar handwriting. Still Alex's. Still not a bad dream.

He closed his eyes, as if that would somehow make it better, but all he saw was the photograph of Alex tied to the chair, so he opened them again. The seconds ticked by painfully slowly, until finally he stood up and started to take out his paints, just for something to do.

It had been a long time since he'd painted just to paint, but it came back to him quickly. Just like riding a bike. The image he was painting was so vivid in his head that he felt like he was copying a master, which made it easier.

He had always loved painting for the concentration it required. No matter how many paintings he made, each one needed his complete and total attention. It was the perfect escape.

As the minutes ticked by, he worked tirelessly, every part of his brain intently focused on his next brush stroke, never thinking to check the clock until the sharp ring of his cell phone brought him back to the present.

"Yeah, Peter. I'll be right in."

With steady hands (a conman never lets his nerves get to him) he slid the package into a plastic bag and tucked it under his jacket. Casually, he left the house and made his way back to the federal building, looking to passersby like a well dressed man on his lunch break.

They couldn't be more wrong.

* * *

_No one moves or makes a sound. It is so still that it looks like a photograph. _

_ "Well, go on!" a gruff voice yells, and someone kicks the chair so hard it nearly topples over. The chair's occupant struggles wildly to right herself. When she finally does, she begins to speak, staring directly into the camera, as if she can see the person watching it and is trying to send them a message. _

_ "My name is Alexandra Hunter," she says, her voice steady and carefully paced. "I have been kidnapped and am being held against my will in a secure location. You have 48 hours to gather the ransom. If, after 48 hours, my ransom has not been given they," she falters only for a moment before brushing away the emotion and continuing. "They will kill me. At the end of the 48 hours you will be contacted with a place and time in order to exchange the ransom for me. _

_ "As you have already been told, if you attempt to tell anyone about this or ask for help they will kill me. If the FBI in any way interferes or attempts to rescue me," she gives a slight smirk, as if the idea of the FBI coming to rescue her is amusing, "they will kill me. The fact that you are seeing the video means that you have not yet told anyone about the letter. Good._

_ "My captors are looking for an FBI file concerning Charles Day. They want the file and all of the evidence connected to the case to be collected and brought to them. If any copies remain inside the Federal Building they want them destroyed. My…." She stops and then says, "No, I'm not saying that. That's just ridic –" her words cut off as the same man from before kicks her chair, harder this time, and she falls to the floor. The screen goes black._

* * *

"Peter," Neal's voice was hoarse, and heavy with emotion. Even Peter was having trouble remaining detached after watching the video that had been sent on a flash drive.

"Okay, right." He shook himself. This was not the time to lose his composure. Neal needed him to be the steady agent he always was. "First, we need to see if we can get anything else out of this tape. There's a window in the background – Christine!" An agent Neal didn't know came forward, automatically taking the drive from the computer and nodding.

"I'll isolate the window; see if I can get a better picture."

"Okay. We've already got someone working on the prints from the outside of the package, Diana and Jones are covering for us upstairs, so let's start on the ransom demand."

"Do you know Charles Day?" Neal asked, trying to keep himself from replaying the image of Alex being knocked to the ground.

"No – he wasn't one of my cases." Peter replied, almost distractedly, while typing the name into the Bureau's database. "You?"

"No."

Peter nodded, and then Neal's answer seemed to catch up to him and he paused, "So why contact you? They could have taken anyone's family – an agent, the director, someone with more security clearance. Why you?"

Almost in unison Peter and Neal said, "Because you're a conman."

Neal continued, "They'd know I wouldn't care about a criminal's file if it meant getting Alex back, and they'd know I wouldn't want to tell the bureau because of Alex's history."

"But you have access to almost every file the FBI has, and you could go poking around without arousing too much suspicion," Peter continued.

"So they get me to do the hard work while staying safe in the knowledge that an ex con wouldn't go to the FBI for help." Neal leaned forward, his eyes excited. They were getting somewhere – just like the moment before his payout came in a con, he felt the familiar thrill of excitement and anticipation.

"But you did," Peter reminded him, smiling. He had become a good influence on the kid after all. "Let's start reading up on Charles Day. I want to know who cares about him enough to risk all of this for some evidence and a folder of information."

"Well," Neal smiled slightly, "You're in luck. We happen to be surrounded by both evidence and folders."

Peter attempted to glare at his consultant, but he couldn't be angry for long. The fact that Neal was trying to keep things light meant that he hadn't lost hope yet, and Peter intended to keep it that way.

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	5. Chapter 4

**I'm trying to continue updating quickly, to make up for that large gap :) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I think by now you know that I do not own this show :(**

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"Charles Day, arrested for insurance fraud three years ago, charges didn't stick, investigated for check forgery two years ago, charges didn't stick, currently being investigated for some counterfeit money that's been popping up at stores he frequents." Peter rattled off, scanning the relatively thick file.

"Let me guess – the charges aren't going to stick. This guy has a habit of getting out of sticky situations." Neal commented, his face dark. "I wonder how he manages." It wasn't a question.

"Clearly, someone has a soft spot for Charlie here. Let's see, he's got a brother, Daniel," Peter trailed off, flipping pages, "Ah – currently serving time for aggravated assault. His father and mother are dead, no cousins on record, an ex wife who left him after the first investigation and a son."

"Maybe Charles Junior is looking out for his daddy," Neal offered.

Peter turned a few more pages and reread them, "Yeah, I think we can knock Charles Junior off our suspect list."

"Why?"

"Because he's four," Peter replied. Neal almost laughed, but instead sighed heavily.

"These were trained men, Peter. At the very least they've had prior kidnapping charges against them. They know what they're doing."

"Yes they do," interrupted a familiar voice. Neal looked up and smiled automatically at the familiar sight of Agent Lauren Cruz.

"Well well well, the prodigal agent returns," he said with a small laugh that sounded only a little forced. "What brings you to our secret headquarters?"

Lauren nodded her heart toward Peter, "Got a call from an old friend."

"Did he say he couldn't go on the American way?" Neal quipped, even though his heart wasn't really in it.

"Ha ha," Lauren said dryly, "very funny, Billy Joel. No, he told me a friend of his was in a crisis and needed all of the help he could get. I had some vacation time, thought I'd drop by and see what I could do." Neal smiled in gratitude as she continued, leaving the lighthearted jesting behind. "Ran into Christine on the way here – said she couldn't make out anything from the window, just sky. From what she can tell, Alex is being held in a," she put up finger quotes as she said, "'warehouse like' building. But that hardly narrows it down in New York."

"Thanks, Lauren. And thanks for coming down. I need as many hands as I can get." Peter put his hand on her shoulder for a moment, silently expressing his gratitude.

"Yeah well, I knew you couldn't get anything done without me," Lauren replied, shrugging off his thanks with a smile. "I forgot how much I loved this."

"You're welcome back anytime," Peter encouraged.

"Thanks, but I'll pass. I'm happy where I am. Still, it's nice to be back for a bit."

"In that case," Peter steered her to a desk that was strewn with evidence bags and pieces of paper, "get to work. I need every piece of evidence catalogued, reexamined and an exact replica found and sealed into an evidence bag. We need a fake ransom as soon as we can. We're on a deadline, people!" Peter turned to address the group. "Let's get moving!"

"What am I doing?" Neal asked, as everyone redoubled their efforts.

"_We_ are going to see what the lab has found on that envelope of yours."

"We checked for prints on the package and ran them, but it'd been wiped clean. The only prints belong to a few mailmen, June, and Neal. We're checking for trace amounts of dirt or sweat, but it doesn't look promising."

"Thanks," Peter nodded at the lab tech, who was looking between him and Neal with a fearful expression. Neal was rarely angry, but when he was, it was a terrifying thing to see.

"Yeah, thanks," Neal echoed, at Peter's prompting. But his mind was in a faraway place – a dark room, lit only by a few bare light bulbs hanging in the ceiling.

He could still see the determined but pained expression of Alex Hunter as she stared into the camera – as if she were trying to send him a message with sheer will alone. He desperately wished he knew what it was. And he could still see the look of blind terror as her chair tilted to the side to crash into the floor. It was terror that came with expectations – as if she'd experienced this treatment before. And it broke his heart.

"So we have nothing," Neal said, for the second time. He hated this constant swinging back and forth, from feeling on the verge of closing the case, to being back at square one.

"Not nothing. We know that they're careful and organized. We know they're in a warehouse, and we know that it's a warehouse with windows high enough to look out into the sky. We also know that whoever has Alex is trying to prevent Charles Day from going to court yet again."

"But we can't bring him in to talk to him without arousing suspicion," Neal countered, as they left the lab and headed back downstairs. He almost ran into Peter, who had stopped dead in the middle of the hall. "What?"

"We can't bring him in – but the agent in charge of his case can."

Charles Day was a slightly overweight blond man in his mid forties. He was wearing an ill fitting blazer and pants, and though he was the picture of calm to an untrained eye, one finger drummed nervously on the countertop, and his foot tapped ever so slightly on the floor. Peter studied him from behind the glass, getting a feel for the man before he began questioning him.

"Are you sure this will work?" Neal asked. He didn't turn to look at Peter, and Peter did not look at him. They kept their eyes on their target, watching as he took deep breaths to stay calm.

"No," Peter replied, as he walked out.

The door to the interrogation room closed rather loudly. Simmons, the agent investigating the Day case, didn't mind letting Peter take over the questioning. Everyone knew that Peter was one of the best agents still working, and Day had already evaded the FBI's grasp twice.

"So, Mr. Day – quite a thick file you have here." Peter said conversationally, slapping the file down on the table. The man smiled a slick smile that almost turned Peter's stomach. It reminded him faintly of Neal's conman smile, with none of the charm and all of the sleaze.

"You could say that. Not nearly as thick as some, I would think."

Peter forced a chuckle. Neal was watching behind the glass, Lauren standing next to him. He wasn't sure if she was there to offer support or to prevent him from charging in and strangling the answers out of the man. Either way, he was grateful. The last thing he needed was to spook the guy into hurting Alex.

"No, not nearly as thick as some. But not anything to scoff at. Investigated three times in three years – that's impressive. And so far, all of the charges seem to roll right off you."

"Well, that's what happens when you're an innocent man, Agent…Burke, was it?"

"Hmmm," Peter replied, frowning in thought at the paper. "So, you were mistakenly accused three times? You must be a pretty unlucky guy."

"I guess I am."

Neither was smiling now, as Charles Day started to realize that his opponent wasn't a rookie agent who could be taken in by a confident attitude.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of the Mafia?" without waiting for an answer, Peter continued. "Interesting people. They used to have a rule. No matter what another person did, said, or thought, they would take it up with him. They would beat him, torture him, kidnap him or kill him, but they never once touched his family. They respected him enough for that." Neal had to admit that watching Charles Day's face was almost worth not being able to sit in the interrogation room. It was almost comical, the way his face went from confident to confused in a few short moments.

"Of course," Peter was saying, "that fell by the wayside as times changed and now they have absolutely no honor or respect for each other. So, Mr. Day, are you old school or new school?"

"Uh…" Charles Day seemed to be lost for words; a situation Neal was familiar with. Being interrogated by Peter was one of the worst ways to end your career as a conman, and if it were anyone else, Neal would pity him. But now, all he wanted was Alex, and it was Charles Day's fault that she was gone.

"I asked you a question, Mr. Day. If you refuse to answer I may be forced to charge you for refusing to cooperate and add another page to your file."

"New…no, old school. Definitely old school."

"I don't think so, Charlie. I think that maybe the reason you've been so lucky is that you have a buddy who's helping you out. Taking care of those pesky witnesses and cleaning up evidence."

Charles Day laughed, "I wish." Then suddenly he seemed to realize what he just said. "No, I don't. I mean, I'm innocent. I mean –"

"You mean what, Mr. Day? That you didn't hire anyone? Or that you wish you'd hired someone? Or have you hired someone and you just don't want to say? If you leave him out of this you're going down for kidnapping, torture, and attempted murder Mr. Day." Peter stood up and leaned forward across the table, the picture of an intimidating FBI agent.

Charles Day was not a real conman. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and he looked like he was trying not to cry.

"Okay, okay! Look – I faked a few bills, okay? I didn't even _use_ most of them! But I'm not a…I would never….That's just sick! Sure, some evidence was lost at both of my trials, and one witness refused to talk. Things happen – I'm just a lucky guy, okay? I don't go around kidnapping people to get my way!"

Neal's heart sank. He could tell that this guy was telling the truth. No matter how many insurance frauds or fake checks this guy had passed, he wasn't the type of guy to tie someone in a chair and kick her around to get protection against prosecution.

"So you have absolutely no idea why anyone would want your file?" Peter shouted, incredulously.

"No! I'm a small time crook – I admit it – but I'm not a criminal!"

Neal wondered if Charles Day realized how stupid that sounded.

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	6. Chapter 5

**I'm baaack :) Here's a quick recap, for those of you who don't remember what happened. (since it's been a month. oops.)**

**Recap:**

_Neal receives a package in the mail demanding an FBI file in exchange for Alex. The file contained information about Charles Day, a small time white collar criminal. After questioning him, Peter learned that he apparently had no idea about the kidnapping. Peter's covert task force is attempting to find Alex within the 48 hour time window._

**I think that's everything. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: White Collar does not belong to me!  
**

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Neal watched the hustle and bustle going on around him disinterestedly. Every single agent Peter could find was working tirelessly on this case, but to Neal, it seemed like they were moving around and copying papers just to look busy. There was nothing in the file that would save Alex. Not if Charles Day didn't hire the men who had kidnapped her.

"You're not giving up already, are you?" Lauren asked, sitting down next to him with a large box in her lap. "So we ran down one bad lead – so what? There are at least twenty guys out there risking their jobs to find her. Don't give up already. That's not the Neal Caffrey I studied." She tried to smile, but Neal didn't respond.

"Yeah, well the Neal Caffrey you studied wasn't stuck waiting for a phone call to tell him where to drop a ransom."

Lauren opened her mouth to reply, although she wasn't sure what she was going to say. Thankfully, Peter's arrival saved her from trying to come up with something. His face was dark with worry.

"What is it?" she asked, instantly concerned. Neal straightened up in his seat.

Peter's voice was low. "June just called. Another package arrived at her house."

Neal could feel his stomach flip over. "But, we still have time."

Peter nodded grimly. There was still plenty of time left in their 48 hour window – which meant that the package could contain nothing good.

Neal didn't bother trying to wait an hour before returning to the FBI. Instead, he ran into his apartment, grabbed the envelope with two fingers, and raced out again. By the time he got to the basement, his heart was racing and his breathing was coming in short gasps that had nothing to do with running down several flights of stairs and everything to do with his overactive imagination.

His hands really were shaking as the lab tech who looked like a child went through the motions of preserving evidence.

"There's no postmark – why would they bother addressing it and putting on stamps if they weren't going to mail it?" questioned the tech.

"Because we'd assume it was mailed and not question the deliverer – June probably saw one of the guys who took Alex and didn't even know it." Peter replied, glaring at the package as if it was at fault.

"Can we please hurry this up?" Neal pressed, fidgeting despite himself as he waited for the lab tech to finish. The padded envelope was bigger than before, and when she finally opened it, he felt sick. Three items tumbled out of the manila paper – a flash drive, a cell phone, and a large pile of brown hair.

"Oh God," Neal choked, instinctively retching in disgust. Peter's face darkened. When the tech finally let him plug in the flash drive, Neal was sure his heart couldn't take any more. And then he started watching.

_Alex keeps opening her mouth, like she's trying to speak but can't. _

_ "Say it! Say it!" A tall man moves from behind the chair she is tied in and slaps her hard across the face. Her head jerks to the other side, her eyes blur. He steps back and she moves to face the camera again, her expression pain filled – and frustratingly determined. _

_ "You told the FBI about me," she says in a monotone. Almost as if she is reading from a cue card. "You were told what would happen if you did. My captors are…" she looks like she wants to stop, but a gloved hand grips her shoulder tightly and she continues, "merciful and will give you a second chance. I will be punished for what you did. You now have until tonight to gather the ransom and make the trade. More information will follow. Keep the phone with you at all times, they will call you when they want you."_

_ She stops reading and the gloved man steps forward. He is completely covered in black from head to toe – black boots, black jeans, black shirt, black gloves, and black ski mask. _

_ "Let's see how your precious girlfriend steals things with broken fingers."_

_ Alex suddenly snaps to attention and starts to writhe and tug at her restraints wildly. It does no good – she is too well secured. _

"I can't watch this." Neal said suddenly, standing up and heading for the door. He almost made it before the screaming started. His head spun wildly, his vision went dark, and his brain shut off.

"Easy," Peter cautioned as Neal sat up. The room tilted crazily, and then steadied out. Peter had one hand on his back, the other around his shoulders, supporting him. A few concerned faces peered over him, but most of the agents kept their distance, respecting Neal's privacy and Peter's orders to get back to work.

"What happened?" Neal asked, his voice rough.

"You collapsed." Peter replied, accepting the cup of water that Diana offered and handing it to Neal. "Here, drink this."

He took a sip but put it aside. "No – Alex. What happened?"

Peter grimaced in response. "Give yourself a minute to relax." He almost tacked on "kiddo" at the end, but refrained.

"I need to know, Peter." Neal looked at him as if Peter were his last hope. It sort of broke Peter's heart, seeing the fear and the hope and the trust in his consultant's eyes.

Peter hesitated, and then spoke slowly and quietly, giving Neal time to absorb and process each sentence before continuing. "They broke all of her fingers. She blacked out after the fourth one, so she didn't…didn't feel as much. The handwriting on the package is still Alex's – she must have written it before…"

"Before they tortured her," Neal finished dully. "I shouldn't have told you. I should have kept it to myself, got the ransom, got her back. I could have solved this on my own, I could have –"

"Don't do this, Neal. You did the right thing. We will catch them, and we will make sure they pay. Right now, we need to focus on getting Alex out of there – and that means getting backup and firepower. They moved the exchange to tonight, so we need to move fast. You need to be waiting by that phone. I need to organize my guys. Now," Peter stood and helped Neal to his feet, "are you feeling alright?"

Neal's only response was a grim nod. However terrible he was feeling, Alex had to be feeling ten times worse – and it was his fault. He gritted his teeth and started to memorize the file on Charles Day, which had been left abandoned on a makeshift desk. He doubted it would help much, but it kept the screams echoing inside his head to a dull murmur, so that was something. He did envision his revenge on occasion, but after the way it had turned out with Fowler, he thought revenge might not be the best idea for him. Mostly, he just pictured wrapping Alex in his arms and taking her to safety.

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**Preview: "**If we see or hear anything that's even the slightest bit suspicious we will kill her." ~ Kidnapper # 1


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